


Ice Cream in the Junkyard

by kentmccoppins



Series: Milkshakes and Beatniks: Dean/Kent Stories. [4]
Category: Iron Giant (1999)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Not Beta Read, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kentmccoppins/pseuds/kentmccoppins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Dean/Kent drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Cream in the Junkyard

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this piece of fanart: http://macherpuppy.tumblr.com/post/116486130807

" _C'mon_ , Kent. Open up."

Square on Kent's lap, spoon in hand, Dean sat trying to coerce the redhead into taking his bait. Ice cream was certainly a good lure, too– or it would be, if Kent's wasn't so bullheaded. He kept his lips sealed shut and stared the beatnik down hard as he tried to egg him on. The hands he had placed deftly on Dean's back and leg tightened as he steeled his mental resistance. Dean only laughed.

"Tightwad," he teased. "Come on, I'm tryin' to be nice, here. I thought you'd be all up for couple stuff like this." Birds chirped in the silence that followed Dean's words, and a gentle breeze passed over two men. The scene was certainly set for giddy, romantic activities– junkyard or not. Kent continued to stare Dean down regardless. However, there were signs his resolve was crumbling– a bit of blush was creeping onto his cheeks.

Dean edged the spoon closer to Kent's lips. Its contents were starting to melt in the faint spring heat; he decided that if the redhead wasn't going to eat them then he was. No sense in wasting good ice cream.

Still, despite the fact Kent wished otherwise, he was not infallible. Dean's lure finally reeled him in. Less than graciously he gobbled up the ice cream offered up in that slender steel spoon. It was inevitable some of it ended up on his face and upon noticing his little mess Kent grunted in discontent.

"Dammit," he muttered. Dean chuckled and reined him in close by his tie, ignoring the small sputtering Kent offered up in protest.

"Let me get that for you, big man." Dean, unabashed, lapped up the fallen ice cream right off Kent's face. Just as Kent had expected.

A shudder descended along his spine and he stiffened himself up as Dean continued oh. So. Slowly. Kent could feel his face heating up; surely his ears were red now too. He couldn't help but whimper. The beatnik smiled coyly and continued until Kent tugged at the fabric of his turtleneck tightly.

"Problem–?"

As he turned Dean had his rhetorical inquiry cut short. Kent kissed him full on the mouth. His cold tongue brazenly slipped past the beatnik's open lips and it was then Dean's turn to let out a little whimper. His hand abandoned Kent's tie and weakly clutched his shirt front.

The distance between them closed, with Kent's arm wrapping around Dean's back completely and Dean's hand rearing up to entangle its fingers in Kent's hair. They pressed closer and closer still, gasping breaths escaping one or the other occasionally as they kissed with vibrant, desperate energy.

That was, until the forgotten ice cream was pressing against their chests.

Kent backed up sharply and stared down for a silent second. Then he chuckled, and chuckled again, until finally he broke into a long, hearty laugh. Not before a few confused moments passed over him did Dean start to laugh with him. After their laughter died they sat there in silence. The birds began to chirp mirthfully again; the clouds, with their voluminous and plump fluff, finally began to pass overhead with the push of another gentle breeze pushing them off.

"Oh, _geeze_ ," Kent sighed. "Alright, let's go get cleaned up." Dean bat his lashes up at him in utterly feigned, utterly teasing innocence and had Kent guffawing again. In a surge of energy he hefted the beatnik up bridal style– ice cream and all –and sauntered back inside.


End file.
